Voldermort- the untold truth

Chapter 4 – The Hogwarts letter

Tom Riddle, an eleven year old smiled, as he remembered what happened to him when he was eight. The bruises given to him from the chubby boy – Eliot Montgomery, have disappeared a long time ago, the pain only returning to him in his nightmares.

But there was something stronger than pain that haunted him so often. It was rage that burned at his heart, at his veins; a kind of fiery rage, like that sun he remembered so long ago which never stopped burning, and blinding him. Yes, rage that burned him like a volcano's magna when he thought of his father. 

At only the age of eight, did he find out his father was alive somewhere. It was an accident that he found out, of course. The woman of the house – the orphanage more likely- had given him a set of chores to be done before the evening that Friday, 3 years ago and while he was at it (cleaning the floor with an old straw broom), he heard her speak on the phone. It was known to him (for he found out) that Mrs Greple was a lover of gossip, chatting to her friends for most of the day, about the latest 'exciting neighbour news' as she called it. And while he was swiping of dust so close to her office door, he heard her say,

"Oh really, the Riddle man? And where could he have found all that money," she snorted and paused. "Ah his father died...I see; the inheritance passed to him...and the old git was rich...yes. Maybe now he'll take his son back." She paused again for a moment as a squeaky voice sounded from the end of the phone. "Ye know, Gretel, I am talking about his son, Tom Riddle," another pause." "Yes that's the twat's name..." and that has told him enough.

So his father had abandoned him here, Tom thought constantly, and now he was rich and bloody selfish. Again, the rage had succumbed to him. Why not leave him to bloody die in the street, than put him in this black hole they called 'orphanage', where no one cares anyway? But he did not miss his father, and was rather proud that he was here – away from him. If his father did not want him, Tom did not want him either, no more than he wanted to be here.

It was a fine day, the autumn clouds covered the sky and looked like rough painted stains someone drew on a piece of white paper. And Tom, sweaty and greasy, was washing the wooden boards beneath him with a worn out mop. The other boys were doing their own little chores; Daniel Reedbuck was polishing the furniture, Billy Elliot was cleaning up the cabinets, Rupert Brown was cleaning up the dishes, and many more were helping out.

The orphanage was a little two –storey wooden house on the corner of an alley way – where the poorer families lived. And although some had not had electricity or heat, like Mrs. Greple's orphanage, they were content. Well most of them were, Tom reminded himself, because they all had families, unlike the bastards in the orphanage, or the parentless children. But none of them had a father who was still alive and kicking, far away, who did not take his son back. Some had parents coming back a few years later and taking their children away, those boys who would stare back at him and draw out their tongue in stupidity, who teased him with made-up clown faces. But Tom didn't care; he'd just smile at them and waved – one less boy to tease him, he'd say often.

"Tom Riddle!" A voice wakened his daydreaming. Suddenly he realized he was lying on the floor, and his head was perched on the wet mop. Quickly he stood up again.

"Day dreaming again, Riddle boy, ye should've finished cleaning the dining floo' an 'our ago," Mrs.Greple drawled. Today she wore a flowery dress of white and red that looked so tight on her, Tom could see it splintering.

He did not answer.

"Eh, boy, ye know day dreaming ain't allowed. Go back to work, if ye know what's good for ye." She said, crossing her arms and looking displeased.

Tom bent on his knees and started scrubbing the floor again.

"Never understood ye, one bit," she said glaring over him as he worked. "Ye've always being strange, 'aven't ye, Riddle boy, ever since they brought ye here. And all these accidents don't stop do they, eh? Me knows tis you who does them, Riddle boy, you strange lad, you are. Me always wanderin' why you cause all these accidents, boy, care to tell me yerself?" Her voice sounded sharp and curious.

Tom continued to clean and did not look up to her. He wasn't allowed.

"'ey, boy," she said and shoved him with her leg. "Come on, ye git, say something already, can't wait all day." After a few more shoves in the back, he finally said,

"I don't know Missus."

"Then who knows?" she said sharply. She almost reminded him of Eliot Montgomery, only worse.

"I am sorry, Missus, but I don't know."

"Ye don't know alright," she spat.

Suddenly a knock sounded on the entrance hall. Tom sighed a relief while Mrs Montgomery made a 'tsk' sound and left to open the door, meanwhile her heavy pounding steps vibrating the floor beneath him.

"Yes," she said annoyingly after she opened the door sharply and glared at the shadow there.

"This arrived a few minutes ago, Mrs Greple," this was the voice of the gardener -Bill Gamble- who Tom saw sometimes around the alley way. In his hand he held an envelop of some kind.

Tom listened.

"Oh right, so ye think it's nice to browse through my letter box?"

"Sorry Missus but it just flew past when I walked by, no intention of brow..." He tried to say.

"Good bye," she interrupted, and shut the door on his face. As she walked towards Tom, her faces looked concentrated into the unopened envelop. It was creamy-brown in colour, Tom managed to glimpse, and had a green-coloured ink.

Mrs.Greple paused shortly. "'Mr. Tom Riddle – the boy from the orphanage who's cleaning the floo''", her face went white. "Now who'd be writing to ye?" she muttered and quickly turned over the envelop. A stamp of Red melted candle was glued there and the letter H was crafted on it. Slowly, she opened it, and a suspicious look crossed her face.

"'Dear Mr. Riddle,'" she read out loud while she paced around the room. "'We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Please find enclosed a list of all the necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours Sincerely,

Headmaster, Armando Dippet'".

Mrs.Greple finished. For a moment there was silence. Then she slowly came back again until she faced Tom Riddle who was perched frozen with his knees bent downwards, the mop dripping with water from his hands.

"So, ye've been accepted at a school for Witches and Wizards," She said rather coldly as if she was envious for a moment.

Tom slowly looked up at her face which showed quite a few reactions at once.

"Ye'll be gone for a whole 'ear, no doubt," she pondered over her thoughts. A grin appeared, but her eyes were emotionless. "A 'ear is a long time, no doubt."

Tom's heart began to race. If she let him go for a whole year to some wizard school, life might not be so bad. At least he won't have to come across her piggy face or the face of Eliot and his shadows. This might be good, he thought.

"A 'ear without strange accidents, and strange Riddle boy," she said to herself.

No more was discussed on that topic that day.

For awhile Tom Riddle was anxious. He did not know Mrs. Greple's decision, but he hoped that it will be positive. For did she not try to get rid of him one way or another? This would just give her that opportunity and she will have a year without 'accidents' as she called it.

Even Tom didn't know at times why strange things happened around him. But he knew that they happened when he felt furious or displeased with someone. But no more did he try to control his moods, than stop eating all together. He rather enjoyed the 'invisible' revenge they got when they displeased, or hurt him. It made him feel quite powerful.

It was already nearing July the 28th, and still Tom Riddle did not know Mrs. Greple's answer. He was beginning to wander if his life was going to be doomed.  After cleaning the floor once more, and tiding away the dust, it was beginning to set outside.

"Boys, dinner on the table, chop, chop," Called out the screechy voice Mrs. Greple.

When everyone was sited at their usual spot along the long square-like table, and waited in anticipation for the whistle that they can start eating, they were quite disappointed when Mrs. Greple started speaking.

"We should have a toast tonight," she said coldly. Her eyes were scanning through the rows of boys. "A toast to the weird Riddle boy, for he is leaving soon."

Some boys cheered for the fact the Tom will leave soon; they all hated him. "But he will be back at the end of the year," she said rather disappointedly as if wishing he'll disappear for ever. "Let's toast for the peace we'll have once he's gone!"

Clanking of forks and knifes sounded around the room. Mrs. Greple drank her glass's contents – a red liquidly drink.

Later, before Tom went to sleep, Eliot Montgomery barely walking, struggled to keep up to him before he gave up and said, "Hey Riddle!"

Some boys who were already dressed for bed, popped out of their rooms.

"Yes Montgomery?" Said Tom quietly.

"Where you going?" Eliot called; an evil smile appeared on his face suddenly. "Did someone find you a home at last, you homeless twat?"

"I am going somewhere better!" Called Tom back, and on his face a smile spreading also; a smile of winning.

"Oh yeh, and where would that be, to the grave yard?" Some boys laughed at this remark.

"To Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," smiled Tom.

And god he was glad for that.